I Got A Love That Keeps Me Waiting
by SwearByTheStars
Summary: In which the first words your soul mate will ever say to you are tattooed on your skin, and Eponine is pretty sure that the universe is out to get her. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, uh, hey. I saw Les Mis in London not long ago, and I've always been a fan, but that kind of turned me into an obsessive. I will be the first to criticise this as making no sense, as I have little knowledge of university or of renting an apartment. So forgive me for inaccuracies in story or character. The soul mate idea is not mine. I've seen it in fanfics here and there and wanted to try it out. And this is Eponine/Montparnasse, in case you didn't realise. No abusive relationships here, though. Montparnasse is a good guy, as far as he can be.**

 **Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated. I don't own.**

* * *

She knows her soul mate isn't Marius, because his first words to her are sweet and polite – it's the day after their freshman orientation at their new college, and he asks her whether she's going to Enjolras' meeting that night. She isn't planning on it, but she ends up going with him and secretly hoping that her tattoo might be wrong.

She's not sure if that's ever happened before.

Eponine's tattoo showed up when she was sixteen, burning itself into her shoulder blades and making her scream in the middle of a particularly boring Chemistry lesson. She had to get Grantaire to read it to her after school, and discovered that the first words her soul mate would ever say to her were, _Get out of the way, bitch._

Rude.

Grantaire had laughed forever.

Marius shows her his tattoo after a few days, inked on the inside of his wrist, and despite the fact that she already knows they aren't meant to be, she's disappointed when the words say, _Tonight_ _? I'd like to, but I'm very sleep deprived right now._

Those were most definitely not her first words to him.

She's at least comforted by the fact that most of her friends haven't found their soul mates yet either, except for Grantaire and Enjolras. R seems to spend most of his time rolling his eyes at Enjolras' idealism, but the truth is that Eponine has spent more than a few evenings listening to a slightly drunk R waxing lyrical about how gorgeous and smart his boyfriend actually is. They're happy. It's great.

The rest of Les Ami's (as Enjolras named them) are surprisingly passive about the whole thing; Combeferre, especially, seems to be too busy studying to give the prospect of a soul mate much thought. To be fair, he is a med student, and frighteningly competent at everything he does. The others sat him down once and interrogated him as to why he didn't want to find the person he was destined to be with, and he shrugged and said, "I figure I'll be in the right place when the time comes. These things usually just happen, don't they?"

As far as Eponine is concerned, Ferre has the right attitude.

Eponine meets Cosette about a month into her first semester. The girl is sitting on a bench outside the English building, drawing in a sketchbook and taking a sip of coffee every so often. Eponine doesn't mean to interrupt her, but she's been carrying extra books across campus to donate as part of Enjolras' new venture, and she's _tired_.

The girl gives her a smile as she all but falls onto the bench, and closes her book. "Hey," she says, her blonde curls falling over her shoulder softly, "aren't you friends with Grantaire?"

Eponine looks at her, probably a little suspiciously, but she doesn't really care right now. "Uh, yeah. How do you know R?"

"We have Art Theory together," the blonde says simply. "He told me I should come listen to one of his boyfriend's speeches, actually. I was planning on going today; I heard that he's started this big campaign."

"That's what these are for." Eponine gestures to her bag of books.

"Do you need some help?"

She seems far too nice. Eponine isn't sure if she's being genuine or not. "No, thanks."

"I'm Cosette, by the way," the now named girl adds as she packs her little sketchbook into her bag.

"Eponine," replies Eponine, standing. "Are you coming or what? I'm already late." She sounds too abrasive. She's not sure that she feels bad about it.

"Sure." Cosette stands too, brushing something imaginary off the hem of her pristine white skirt. Eponine glances down at her jeans she hasn't washed for three days and ratty Star Wars shirt she stole from R years ago, and then decides that she doesn't give a crap. "Let's go then."

* * *

It takes a while for Eponine to warm up to Cosette, especially after Grantaire brings her to the Cafe Musain one afternoon and Marius, after staring at her from across the room for about five minutes straight, walks up to her and asks her out for drinks. Cosette replies, "Tonight? I'd like to, but I'm very sleep deprived right now."

Marius breaks into a huge grin, just as Cosette smiles brightly herself and continues, "Of course, I can do tomorrow. I think we need to talk."

"Yes, yes, of course," Marius says, and he doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

So Eponine tries to hate Cosette for a while, but she's far too nice, and turns out to have a _fierce_ streak that Eponine can't ignore, and she goes from reluctant acquaintance to female best friend in the space of one eventful Saturday night that includes tequila shots and a creepy groper who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Eponine is halfway through her first year of college before things really start getting interesting.

Not in a particularly good way, at first. Gavroche starts getting into fights at school and comes home more than once with a black eye and a split lip.

"Who did this to you?" Eponine asks him one evening while she's digging an ice pack out of the freezer.

"Just some guys at school," Gavroche mumbles.

"I need names." She hands her little brother the ice pack. He just looks at her.

Eponine sighs and runs a hand back through her hair. "Can you try to stay out of trouble, Gav? Please?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nods. "Yeah."

"Okay." Eponine picks up her phone and, fingers poised above the screen, continues, "I was going to go to Musichetta's tonight. You okay with Azelma?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

Eponine ruffles his hair, and the glare he gives her could kill.

Her phone vibrates in her hand. The number on the call screen isn't one she recognises, but in this house, they've learned quickly: always answer.

She does, with a little trepidation. "Hello?"

"Darling," says a voice on the other end. "How's my little 'Ponine?"

Eponine ducks out of the kitchen into the hallway as quickly as possible, so Gavroche can't hear. Azelma is watching some reality show in the living room, but the sound is turned up so loud that she has no chance of overhearing anything. Eponine hisses, "What the hell do you want?"

"Catching up. Was hoping you could pay me a visit one of these days, actually."

"I'm not gonna be one of your cronies, Dad," Eponine replies coldly, repulsed at even calling him that. He's no father to any of them really. Just sends a percentage of the profit he makes (and only because Eponine can't afford to put herself through college, rent an apartment and send Azelma and Gavroche to school). Eponine hates being dependent on him.

"Of course you're not," he says, voice dripping with slippery false cheeriness.

"Really. I'm not getting back into any of that, and neither are Gav and Zel. Alright?"

"I know, I know. Just come visit your dad, alright sweetheart? You know how your mother worries."

Eponine almost laughs. If anything, their mother cares less about them than their father.

"Why should I?" she asks.

"Well, I've come into some money recently," he says, nonchalant, "and I've heard that there's been a landlord knocking on your door of late. Be a pity if you lost your place because you couldn't pay rent on time."

"How do you know that?" Eponine snaps.

"Eyes everywhere, love."

Eponine hates him, and tells him as much.

"Yes, yes. See you… Mmm, tomorrow evening, I think."

She writes down the address, noting without surprise that it's in one of the worse parts of town.

"If I come talk to you, I'll get the money?" she asks.

"Of course. Lovely chatting, 'Ponine. See you," Thenardier breezes before hanging up.

Eponine resists the urge to punch the wall. Instead, she just yells to Azelma over her shoulder, "Don't stay up too late!" and slams the front door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So Montparnasse is referred to as 'the devil's dandy', and Eponine has called herself the devil. And. That's where this came from. Montparnasse is probably Eponine's biggest fan, tbh.**

* * *

Her father knows how to get into her head.

Eponine hates herself for being scared of him, because she is, at least a little. Unbelievably, there was a time when Eponine was young when things were good. Her father ran a bar, and they had some money to spare, and it wasn't _perfect_ , but it was better. Azelma barely remembers it, and Gavroche wasn't born until about three years after their parents started to get involved with Babet and Claquesous. Eponine is as close to a mother as he knows.

Eponine is wearing dark lipstick and her nicest pair of heels, because a confidence boost is just what she needs right now. Except maybe she didn't think this through, because the lift in this building doesn't seem to work, and the stairs are steep.

It smells like piss in the stairwell, and Eponine would regret coming in the first place if not for the rent that is very soon due. She makes it up the few flights of stairs relatively unscathed, and surveys the long, fluorescent lit corridor with distaste. 24B is apparently where she needs to go.

As she approaches the door, it swings open seemingly of its own accord and a couple of men file out. One is dark-skinned and thin enough to snap. Eponine recognises him as Claquesous.

The second is around her own age, tall, with slightly wavy dark hair falling from under a… _top hat?_ Really?

He pushes past her and snaps, "Get out of the way, bitch!"

Her stomach twists, but she glares at his back as he walks away and replies, "Wow, rude much, asshole!"

His posture seems to stiffen, and he stops, spins on his heel and looks at her, his scowl replaced by a grin that she privately admits to herself is sort of endearing. In a psycho kind of way. Without a word, he tugs down the collar of his immaculate black jacket and white shirt, low enough for her to see his collarbone.

Where her words are staring back at her, stained into his skin.

Eponine blinks at him. The feeling is creeping up on her now; it's slow, and warm, and makes her feel like something inside her that she didn't even know was broken has been fixed.

His eyes are brown, and they crinkle up when he smiles.

"My name's Montparnasse," he says as he straightens his jacket. "I'll see you around."

Then he whirls around again and follows Claquesous down the stairs.

Eponine stares at his retreating form until he's gone, and then slowly turns back to the door, still ajar. She takes a moment to compose herself (and try to forget that she just met her _soul mate_ ) before stepping inside.

It's surprisingly nice inside, and does not, in fact, look like the base of a street gang's leader. Eponine knows what those look like. Except for the scuffs and prints of heavy boots on the floor (useful for kicking the crap out of people who owe you money), it's almost normal.

Eponine wonders where their stash is hidden.

She glances into a room as she passes, and sees a flat screen TV on its stand, a boot shaped hole in the cracked screen. Thenardier in one of his rages? Guelemer, drunk?

She hopes Guelemer isn't around right now. Or any of her father's little servants for that matter.

"Ponine?" comes the call from down the hallway.

She feels sick.

Her father is sitting at a round table, alone. Mercifully. There are wads of cash in front of him, arranged in neat rows. He's idly counting a stack of bills. He's all about the theatrics, Eponine thinks. This is all for show.

"How are you, darling?" he asks. He glances up after a moment, and his expression twists sour. "You look like a whore."

"Nice to see you too, Dad," Eponine replies coolly, pulling out a chair. "Where's Mom?"

"College treating you good?" he asks, ignoring her question.

"Why do you care?"

"Sweetheart," Thenardier sighs. Here he goes, with his wounded act. Makes it her fault, makes her guilty. "You know I care about all of you."

Eponine says nothing.

"That's why I'm giving you this opportunity to redeem yourself."

"Why do I need to?" asks Eponine, keeping her voice neutral, but there's anger boiling in her stomach.

Thenardier laughs softly at that. "You're not as dumb as all that, darling. College girl like you."

"That's it?" Eponine says, low and cold. "I need to redeem myself because I decided to go to college?"

"Call it what it was, 'Ponine. Abandoning your family in their time of need."

He looks satisfied; he thinks he's backed her into a corner, guilt tripped her into listening to him.

"Oh, bullshit," she hisses through her teeth. "I am the only one who ever looked after Gavroche and Azelma. You abandoned us."

"I always look out for you lot." His voice is cold, but she's just getting angry, and she can't help but think that this is exactly how he wants it.

"You send your little slaves to spy! That's not looking out for us!"

"And Montparnasse is proving himself quite useful in that respect."

It feels like she's had the air knocked out of her. He can't possibly know. The only other person who might know is Claquesous, if he waited.

(Eponine decides that she doesn't have time to think about what a nightmare that is. Or the fact that apparently her soul mate has been spying on her.)

"It's invasive," Eponine replies, making an effort to keep herself calm, or neutral at least. "It's _wrong._ " Her lip curls. "But you don't care about morals, right? I mean, obviously not."

"I wouldn't preach about morality if I was you, 'Ponine." Her father's voice is dark and low.

"What's this offer?" she asks in return, to get the conversation moving so she can leave quickly.

His lips twist up in a smile without mirth, and he leans back and says, "Just an opportunity for you to make a little money."

" _What is it_?"

He glares. "I need another dealer. You used to be good at that."

"I was sixteen."

"And? You can at least handle the clientele now, I'm sure."

"Sixteen year olds shouldn't be selling cocaine for their fathers. And I'm still not going to do it."

"Eponine…"

She scrapes back her chair and stands, smoothing down her black skirt. "You promised me rent money if I came."

"Oh no, you're not cheating me out of my hard earned cash, you freeloading little bitch!"

He's angry now, rising from his chair, and Eponine gives him a hard stare. "You're one to talk," she says. "You're a cheat. A liar, a thief, a _murderer_. The only reason I came to talk to you was because of the money you told me you'd give. Just one more time I believed you."

"You listen here -"

"I'm not gonna work for you."

She's skittering towards the door now, and he's after her. Damn these heels!

Thenardier catches her by the arm, curls his hand around her wrist so tight that her fingertips go white, pulls her closer, forces her to look up into his face.

"You'll do as I say!" he growls.

"I won't!"

Eponine tries to yank herself away, and he brings his hand up. The impact is quick and sudden, a stinging mark across her face, and when he loosens his grip for just a moment, Eponine pulls her arm away and sets off at a run down the hallway. She scrabbles at the door, resorting to kicking it with the sharp toes of her heels until it flies open. She dashes out into the corridor without looking back.

It's only when she's halfway down the stairs that she dares to slow down. Her cheek still stings from the slap, but it's not the worst her father has inflicted on her. Honestly, that meeting went a little better than could reasonably be expected, knowing Thenardier and the Patron Minette.

What she's really concerned about now, is the fact that they still don't have rent money.

* * *

Gavroche is asleep when Eponine gets back home, lying on the couch under a red blanket with his arms thrown back and his hair fanned out around him.

Azelma appears out of the kitchen, probably having heard the door close. "Hey, Ep," she whispers. "How was it?"

"I just don't want to talk, Zel," Eponine sighs.

"That bad?"

"Kind of."

Azelma stirs the mug she's holding in her hands and says, "I got a job the other day."

"Yeah?"

"Helping customers in one of those big department stores in town. It's minimum wage, but it helps, right?"

Eponine doesn't want Azelma to have the same life she does; if she doesn't keep her grades up, the university board might think she's not worth their money and drop her scholarship, but then she has her siblings to look after and a job waiting tables in a bar near the college. It's hard to keep up sometimes. But she can see that her sister is happy with herself, so she just says, "That's great, Zel," and comes forward to hug her.

After she's woken Gavroche and sent him up to bed, she takes her own advice and makes her way into her dark bedroom. Once she's slid between the rumpled sheets, pressing her face into a pillow, she waves a hand around for her phone at her bedside. She has to tell _someone._

 **Ep:** R

 **Ep:** Hey, R

 **R:** I'm busy Ponine

 **Ep:** I met him

 **R:** The rude guy?

 **Ep:** Yeah

 **Ep:** He works for my dad

 **R:** Oh

 **R:** Shit

 **Ep:** Yeah

 **R:** That's bad

 **Ep:** Yeah

 **R:** What u gonna do?

 **Ep:** Idk. Not worry bout it I guess

 **R:** Shit I'm sorry Ponine. Maybe it'll work out

 **Ep:** Since when are you such an optimist?

 **R:** Shut up

 **R:** Don't date guys in street gangs Ponine

 **Ep:** Wasn't planning on it

 **R:** Good girl

 **R:** Do what u think u need to

 **R:** G2g using Enj as photo subject for project

 **Ep:** Good luck

* * *

 **I have a headcanon that Grantaire and Eponine are BFFs and nothing will ever convince me otherwise. Reviews/follows/favourites are all very much welcomed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to CrimsoCrescendo and honeypleasedontflatteryourself for being my first reviewers!**

 **Shortest chapter yet, and one that gave me some trouble. Hope you enjoy anyway.**

* * *

She's vaguely impressed, but mostly seriously creeped out, when he manages to make contact with her only a few days after their first meeting.

Eponine has spent her evening shuttling plates of nachos to booths in a hot, crowded bar, staring down tipsy guys when their leering grins drift lower than her eyes. She's exhausted, run off her feet with barely any tips to show for it. Her keys are held securely in her fist, jagged edges protruding between her fingers. It's more of a precaution than anything; Eponine knows how dangerous the city streets are at night. It's not like they can afford to live anywhere better.

Her building is lit up, yellow light streaming down from the windows, and there's someone standing outside the door, waiting patiently.

"Hey," he says softly, and she recognises the voice even before she can make out his features, because goosebumps prickle over her arms and her stomach ties itself up in knots.

He's not wearing that ridiculous top hat tonight, which she supposes is a good thing, and he's impeccably dressed from dress shirt down to shiny shoes.

Montparnasse tilts his head the slightest bit and gives her a grin. Eponine glares.

"Shouldn't I be here?" he asks after a moment.

"No." Eponine moves to slide her key into the glass door's lock, but he reaches out and curls a hand around her arm.

Her vision blazes red for just a second, and she whirls around quickly; she can't breathe, just looking at him. He seems just as taken aback by their contact, but he recovers quickly, his hand falling slowly back to his side.

"What did you come here for?" Eponine asks, uncomfortably aware of how thin and breathless her voice sounds.

Montparnasse shrugs. "Wanted to ask you out," he replies airily.

There's an awkward pause, in which Eponine glares at him and his smirk freezes a little.

"You're kidding," Eponine says flatly. "You have to be fucking kidding me."

He's frowning like he doesn't understand, but he can't be _that_ stupid.

"Listen," Eponine sighs. "You," and here she pokes him in the chest with one finger, "are a criminal. You work for my father. I don't care what the universe says, I'm not interested."

 _Don't lie,_ whispers a traitorous little voice in the back of her head. She ignores it.

Montparnasse leans forward a little, looks down at her, black hair falling into his eyes, and, with a wicked smile curving across his face, says softly, "What can I do to change that?"

She's so distracted by his close proximity that it takes a second for her head to register his words, and when she manages it, she jumps backwards and snaps, "Nothing! You're a stalker!"

A scowl twists his pretty features suddenly. "You think I _like_ having to work with Thenardier? What did he tell you? I swear to you, I came around here _once_ , and I didn't even see you."

"It's still really fucking creepy," Eponine spits.

"That's all Thenardier wants me to do, give him blackmail on you. You don't think I have better things to do than follow you around?"

"Well, it certainly doesn't seem like it."

Montparnasse huffs in annoyance, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, looking for all the world like a sulking child. Eponine turns away, and is opening the door with a tiny _click_ of her key, when he pipes up again. "You know, I'm not a sentimental guy, but I think that if the universe is telling you something, you should probably listen."

Eponine lets out another deep sigh. She's tired (lately that seems to be her usual state of being), and she definitely doesn't have the patience to deal with him at this particular moment. "I don't have _time_ for this, Montparnasse."

He's serious though, when she glances at him, and she _swears_ that she feels a slight tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach, as if there's some cosmic force pulling her towards him. She ducks through the doorway quickly, without another word, closes the door behind her and spares a quick look over her shoulder. He's disappearing into the darkness, and she's mostly relieved.

* * *

She tells Courfeyrac about it the next afternoon.

They aren't alone, but that doesn't matter much. Joly is sitting in the far corner of the Cafe, studying and occasionally whipping out his smartphone to Google whatever symptoms he thinks he has, while Jehan is draped over an armchair scribbling away in a notebook. He has a flower crown perched on his head, pretty purple flowers contrasting with his red hair. No one questions Jehan's fashion choices anymore.

Eponine holds a paper cup of coffee in her hands and looks at him, buried in whatever he's working on, and wonders for a moment what Montparnasse would think of the fashion disaster that is Jean Prouvaire.

Then she wonders why she's actually thinking about him. It's a little bit annoying that he keeps wandering through her head like that.

Courf tips a horrendous amount of sugar into his coffee, stirs it around and listens attentively while she tells him about what's been going on. R may be her best friend, but Courfeyrac is a far better listener, when he's not distracted by a cute girl or shiny things.

He's frowning a little by the time she finishes talking, and then he casually takes a sip of his coffee and says, "Well, it seems like the universe has terrible judgement to set you up with a - what did you refer to him as?"

"A misguided, self-absorbed probable murderer?"

"Yes, that. But. He's still your soul mate, Ep. I mean, I think once you find them, it's kind of useless to fight it."

Courfeyrac: shameless flirt, eternal optimist, on a mission to adopt every cat in the country and find true love while he's at it. Eponine loves him, but that isn't exactly the answer she's looking for.

"I'm trying to be a good influence to Gavroche," she replies. "Dating a criminal is not exactly going to make me Sister of the Year."

Courf bursts out laughing, prompting a glare from Eponine and a glance upwards from Jehan. "Was that a title you were ever planning on receiving?" he asks. Eponine whacks him in the arm. "Seriously," he continues, still grinning. "Your brother can handle it."

Courfeyrac and Gavroche, get on surprisingly well. He's always Eponine's go-to babysitter when Azelma isn't available. Eponine doesn't say anything more, just finishes her coffee (unlike Courfeyrac, she takes hers black, without sugar, bitter and dark).

That's the minute that there's a burst of conversation, and Cosette, Musichetta and Marius arrive from outside. The girls are chatting while Marius does his awkward Marius thing and tags along, but Cosette has linked her fingers through his and is holding on tight. She's wearing a cute white shirt with spaghetti straps that leaves her back open. Eponine never wears clothes like that because of her tattoo, splayed across her back. It's not really something she wants exposed.

Musichetta goes over to Joly and drops a kiss on his cheek, and he smiles up at her. The story goes that Musichetta has two tattoos; one on her thigh and one down her shoulder. She used to think that was strange, until she met Joly and Bossuet.

Eponine can't help it; she's jealous. Of Musichetta and her boys, of Cosette and her cute clothes and her boyfriend that Eponine used to pine for. They both have healthy, functioning relationships, and what does she get?

Cosette sits down next to her, and she's smiling so brightly that Eponine's momentary self pity abates. And anyway, everyone is starting to gather around, the table they're all situated around piling high with coffee and textbooks and snacks, and everyone is talking, laughing, arguing with someone else, and Eponine decides that right now, she has all she needs.

No need to think about anything else.

* * *

 **Feedback keeps me writing, so...**


	4. Chapter 4

**I might update a bit slower from here on, because life has got in the way and it sucks. Thanks to Grace and Freedom909 for reviewing, much appreciated :)**

* * *

Montparnasse is not a stalker.

Yes, he knows where she lives. That information came from her asshole of a father. Yes, he may have met her younger brother at one point, but what nine year old hangs around in the roughest parts of town trying to teach himself knife tricks? (How did he even manage to obtain a knife like that?) Montparnasse had to show him how to spin the blade just right, or else the kid would have seriously hurt himself. He did Eponine Thenardier a favour by helping him.

He's not too fussed by the fact that she rejected him. He has his tattoo, and she has hers – the end game isn't hard to predict. Montparnasse, as much as he would hate to admit it to anyone else, actually likes the girl; sure, she's hot, but she's strange and proud and angry, and he really wants to know what goes on inside her head.

The first time he touched her, the world caught on fire.

He has no one to tell about her, because who else would care? The Patron Minette would assume he was showing signs of weakness. They don't approve of having human emotions, and he does have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Claquesous hasn't said anything about that incident at Thenardier's, but Claquesous never says anything anyway. He's one scary dude, Montparnasse isn't ashamed to admit it. He's seen the scar – it's on the inside of Claquesous' forearm, visible when his sleeves are rolled up. The skin is dark and puckered, black words twisted into an unreadable mess; a burn wound, obviously self inflicted and deliberate.

Unless Babet came at him with a blowtorch, which, honestly, would not be all that surprising.

But just because sometimes the rest of the Patron Minette freak him the fuck out, that doesn't mean he doesn't rule them, because he does. Definitely. Where would they be without Montparnasse?

He's out around the city today; he likes to people watch. He pickpockets when he feels like it, if no one's paying attention – and they barely ever are. People can be so _stupid_.

It's just little things; leather wallets with a couple of notes folded up inside, loose rings off fingers (it's not hard to do in a crowd), but Montparnasse figures, it's always important to enjoy the small things in life. When he's not indulging in petty thievery, he buys coffee, finds a bench somewhere and laments people's fashion sense. What some people think is acceptable to leave the house wearing... He despairs, he really does.

There's a little independent place called the Cafe Musain near the university. It's full of pretentious college students, but the coffee's not bad. He notices one guy sitting at a table with a laptop, his long red hair gathered back into a plait. He's wearing a pink, long sleeved jersey and green skinny jeans; Montparnasse feels like his eyes are going to start bleeding just looking at him.

He steps out into the cool air, still holding a half empty cup, and immediately jumps backwards as a bike comes skidding along the pavement and almost collides with him. "Hey, watch where you're going!"

He gains only an amused glance from the culprit; a tall, curly haired blonde who gets off his bike slowly, grabbing his shoulder bag from the basket attached to the handlebars. It's full, and has patches ironed on that call for the downfall of capitalism. He's probably a few years older than Montparnasse, and he carefully locks his bike to the rack before turning. "I'm sorry about that," he says.

"You'd better be, asshole!" snaps Montparnasse. Did this moron _know_ what could have happened? He could have spilt coffee down his shirt – it's _Armani_.

(Alright, knock off Armani, but Montparnasse knows a guy, and you can barely tell the difference.)

The blonde holds his hands up. "Really, I'm very sorry." He seems to study Montparnasse for a moment more, before he continues, "I've never seen you here before. You don't study here?"

Montparnasse ignores the question, and is turning to leave when he hears, "Wait, wait," and the blonde is in front of him again. He's starting to lose his patience...

"Take one," the blonde says, producing a flyer from God knows where and pushing it into his hand. "We meet on Thursday nights." Then he's gone, disappearing into the coffee shop, leaving Montparnasse to stare at the piece of paper in his hand.

It's something about a group that meets once a week – they call themselves Les Amis d'ABC. Wannabe revolutionaries. Montparnasse hates politics. Don't they know that rallies and protests aren't going to change a damn thing? Capitalism may fall on its own, but a group of dumb college kids aren't going to tear it down.

He wonders, though, as he walks down the street, the tallest university building looming up in front of him. He knows that she's studying here. It might be a long shot, but maybe she'd associate with that kind of crowd. She seems like the type, actually – disillusioned with her place in society, angry at the world.

Montparnasse shoves the flyer into his pocket and thinks that, yes, it might be worth a try.

* * *

"You _invited_ him?!" Eponine hisses. Enjolras, standing near the counter and talking quietly to Grantaire, gives her an expressionless look and shrugs. "Yes, I did. What of it?"

"He's... It's..." Eponine starts, and finds that she has no words. "R! It's _him_ , okay?"

Enjolras glances at Grantaire quizzically. The dark haired artist blinks at Eponine blankly before he realises. He takes a quick look over to the table where the stranger has entered into a deep and apparently passionate discussion with Jehan about... something, and then says, very simply, "Shit. That was a bad move, Enj."

"Why's that?"

It may be the first time Eponine has ever seen Enjolras looking confused, and it's not really a good look on him. Grantaire sighs. "That," he says softly, "is Ponine's soul mate."

"That's not a good thing," she adds quickly. "He's kind of a criminal."

"Kind of?" Enjolras repeats. Now he just looks thoughtful. Eponine should have known that argument wouldn't hold any weight with Enjolras. He doesn't care what background you come from, as long as you're willing to give your time, money and possibly life for the fight for freedom.

"No," she says, waving a finger in his face. "No, he is not staying."

Without another word, she spins around and makes her way over to the table where Montparnasse is criticising Jehan's clothes while the poet pretends to listen. He looks up at her. "Hey, darling," he grins.

"Get up."

He sighs dramatically and stands, following her as she marches out of the cafe. "It's cold out here, Eponine," he says once they're standing out in the square, his tone observational. She's the one shivering.

"Yeah, I gathered. Why are you following me?" she asks, finding that the cold, instead of sapping her anger, only makes it stronger.

"I'm not following you," he frowns, apparently offended that she'd assume that. Even though from what she's seen, that's what he's doing. "I ran into your friend Enjolras. He invited me. I came."

Eponine shakes her head. "Please just leave my friends out of this." It's déjà vu, standing outside in the dark, arguing with Montparnasse.

"They're not bad, actually. For a bunch of delusional left-wing students." He smiles at her, and she's annoyed that he already knows how to provoke her. He slips a hand into his pocket and brings out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, wordlessly offering the open pack to her. Eponine really wants one, but she's been trying to give up. She refuses, and he shrugs.

"So," he continues, the tip of his cigarette a tiny orange flicker. "Marius? That's tough."

"What about Marius?"

"He's not interested, right? Got that girl, the blonde one, what's her name?"

"I told you. Leave my friends out of this."

"What's so great about him? What's the _point_ , Eponine? He's never going to see you that way, you know that?" Montparnasse persists.

Eponine curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them shaking. "Go fuck yourself, pretty boy."

His lips curl up into a poisonous smirk. "Aw, Eponine. You really think I'm pretty?"

She punches him in the jaw, not as hard as she could have, but he still reels back. "Shit," he hisses, holding a hand up to the point of impact. She shakes her hand, because _ow_.

He starts laughing. That's not the appropriate reaction.

"Eponine," he says, and he gives her the most genuine smile she's ever seen. Honestly, it looks as if he could not be more delighted that she just hit him. "You're insane."

She steps backwards, not taking her eyes off his hands in case he decides to retaliate. "Don't touch me," she says quickly, her voice rising.

"No, listen to me." He holds his hands out in front of him, palms up, cigarette dangling between his fingers. "You didn't need to do that. Hurt like a bitch, but unnecessary."

"Don't come near me," she whispers, still edging away.

"Just listen, will you? I'm sorry," he says, stepping forward. "I'm a smartass sometimes." He reaches out and grabs her hand, and there it is again, fire when their skin meets, a current running between them, and Eponine wants to fall into his arms just as much as she wants to run away. She just punched one of the most wanted criminals in the city, why is he holding her hand? _Why isn't he trying to kill her?_

"Did that hurt?" he asks. She doesn't reply, just watches him intently. He sighs, leans down and kisses her on the forehead. There's red blooming over his jaw now, but he doesn't seem concerned.

"Tell me to leave you alone," he says. "Tell me, and I will."

She doesn't say anything, and he brings a hand up and puts his cigarette between his teeth for a moment while he rubs at his jaw. "Just don't do that again."

Eponine says nothing. She's still shaking, whether from the cold, her frustration or him, she isn't sure anymore. "I don't want you around right now," she manages eventually, her voice a little unsteady. "You just mess with my head. I hate it."

He shrugs, steps back, breaks whatever connection they had. "Fair enough."

He disappears out into the darkness. She goes back to the meeting, a little shaken, knuckles smarting.

When she finally gets home later that night, there's a rent notice shoved into her mail slot. Eponine, tired of everything that's been going on in her life lately, carefully pulls it out, smooths it down, and, carefully and methodically, rips it into little pieces.

* * *

 **I hope that POV change wasn't too weird. I think I'm going to do that now and then, because Montparnasse is very interesting to write. I'm actually not sure how well he's portrayed here. Kind of OOC?**

 **Please review~**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the longer wait... Thanks for the reviews, you really keep me motivated to write even when I don't have a lot of time.**

* * *

When she discovers a rose, deep red with not a single thorn, left lying on her kitchen table with a receipt wrapped around the stem (a receipt with a phone number scribbled in spiky black handwriting on the back), she puts it in a vase of water, and then goes out and buys four new locks that she's sure not even her little brother could pick.

How Montparnasse managed to get into the building remains to be seen, but she's not entirely surprised. It seems like something he'd find romantic, breaking into a girl's flat to leave her flowers.

But least he _bought_ the rose.

She saves his number as 'Montparnasshole.'

Azelma comes home from work one evening, slamming the door as she rushes inside, yelling, "Ep!"

Eponine is studying at the table, while across from her, Courfeyrac is trying to teach Gavroche basic maths and getting it very, very wrong. She looks up with a slight frown, and wonders what has her sister in such a frenzy until Azelma carefully pulls the hem of her skirt down a little. The skin on her hip is slightly red, the words black and striking. They say, "I just like flowers."

Really.

Eponine doesn't know what kind of dimwit her sister is going to end up with, but she wishes them all the happiness in the world. Although she supposes that she really shouldn't judge, considering what's running across her shoulder blades.

Azelma is staring at her, wide eyed and with an excited little smile, and she looks so damn _happy_ that Eponine just gets up and hugs her little sister tight. She's been waiting for this for years, and it's certainly taken long enough; she turns eighteen in a few months.

Gavroche isn't impressed, but Courfeyrac takes one look at Azelma's tattoo and starts to laugh, slightly manically. Eponine ignores him, because honestly. _Courfeyrac_. She doesn't know what goes on inside that boy's mind.

* * *

The Musain puts a sign up in the window that reads, 'Help Wanted,' and Eponine quits her job at the dingy downtown bar as quickly as she can. Her logic is that she spends most of her time at the Cafe anyway, so she may as well earn some money off it. Besides, Musichetta works there part time too. It's nice, being able to keep up on Les Ami's meetings while she works – a million times better than working late at the Corinthe, certainly.

Azelma starts to visit after school sometimes, finishing her work and retiring to an armchair to text the afternoon away. She gets on well with the rest of the gang, as it were. Enjolras likes her because she questions him, pointing out perceived flaws in his ideas that he didn't think were there in the first place. She even proofreads his angry letters to various politicians. Grantaire has known her as long as he's known Eponine, so he doesn't really mind her stealing his boyfriend for heated debates every now and then.

But in hindsight, Eponine should have realised. It was really only a matter of time.

She's on her break when it happens, curled up in one of the big soft armchairs and tapping at her phone, while opposite Combeferre is buried in a textbook. Occasionally he scribbles something down in the margin with a blunt pencil, but she can't see what he's busy with.

"Get off, Prouvaire!" Jehan has a tight grip on Bahorel's wrist with one hand while he uses the other to doodle up and down the bigger man's arm with a blotchy ink pen. Azelma watches with interest from the couch, while Feuilly just laughs.

Jehan slaps Bahorel's arm lightly and scolds him. "Stop moving, you'll ruin it!" Bahorel just rolls his eyes, but quietens down and lets Jehan get back to creating his masterpiece.

Once he's finished, Jehan sits back with a satisfied little smile and brushes a few strands of red hair out of his face. His sleeves slide up, and Eponine can see that her sister is interested in the splash of colours just visible on his wrist. Azelma stands up and makes her way over to the table he's sitting at. "Can I see?" she asks, and he gives her a slow, wide eyed sort of look before he rolls his sleeve up.

Jehan's tattoos are gorgeous. They twist up his arms, flowers of all colours and deep green vines and rose petals trailing down over his hand. Azelma takes the sudden burst of brightness in slowly, and then says, "These are amazing. What made you decide to get them?"

Jehan shrugs slowly, gives another sweet smile and replies, "I just like flowers."

Azelma grins and pulls out a chair to sit. Eponine watches, mentally kicking herself. That's it, then. Her little sister found her soul mate. Eponine would never have predicted _Jehan_ , but... Her sister deserves someone good.

Courfeyrac comes into the cafe soon enough, takes a look at Jehan writing poetry on Azelma's hand, and proclaims to no one in particular, "I _knew_ it!"

* * *

"I hate having a soul mate," Eponine says to Combeferre a little later, when she's behind the counter again and he's talking to her while he scans the pages of his textbook. There are random highlighted passages and notes written all around the edges of the pages.

He gives her an amused glance. "Why, exactly? I'd think it makes things easier."

"Not always," Eponine replies with a mirthless smile.

"What was his name, anyway? That guy Enjolras invited here. That you knew."

Eponine hesitates for a moment. "Montparnasse." It comes out softer than she means it to.

"Him. He's your soul mate, is he?"

Eponine hates how everyone knows everyone else's business around here. Granted, telling Courf probably wasn't the best idea...

"Technically," she says, with a slight nod. "But I think something went wrong there."

Combeferre looks at her steadily. There's a stray sandy blonde curl hanging into his face. It's sort of endearing.

"He's just..." _A smartass. Pretty boy. Criminal._ "I don't know." She glances down at her feet for a moment before continuing, "I don't think I want the perfect person handed to me just like that. It seems _too_ easy _,_ right?"

Combeferre shrugs. "I suppose." He smiles at her, and a sudden, sharp stab of loneliness hits Eponine in the gut. Montparnasse isn't someone she wants to be with, but the universe seems to have other ideas. She wonders if she could rebel.

"Just forget it," she says, just as much to herself as to him.

"No, I understand what you mean," he replies quickly, reaching out a hand as if to stop her from leaving, even though she wasn't planning on going anywhere.

He's looking at her seriously, and that's what makes Eponine decide on it. It's more of an experiment than anything else. "Don't freak out," she says, and then before Combeferre can say anything else, she leans forward over the counter top and kisses him.

He's remarkably calm, which she appreciates because she _knows_ that this is awkward and weird and definitely a bad idea. It doesn't feel right anyway, somehow. She just thinks of Montparnasse, and he's the person she's trying to get out of her head.

She's so glad no one else is around to see this.

She breaks the kiss after a few seconds. Combeferre blinks at her, and then says, very eloquently, "Um."

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry," Eponine says, so quickly that the words trip over each other. "Really, that was just... I had to see..."

After a minute more of babbling, she manages to calm down enough to explain to him why, exactly, she had got it into her head to kiss him. Ferre actually laughs when she tells him it was an experiment, and assures her that it's okay, don't worry, it wasn't that awkward.

Eponine just wants to crawl into a dark cave and stay there forever, but Combeferre points out that most of Les Ami's have ended up kissing each other at one point. Neither of them bring up that ill-fated fling Courf and Jehan went through, but. Well.

She understands, though. She has time to think it over later, when she has to close for the night. It's Montparnasse - she knows that much. He's the person picked out for her. There's no use trying to rebel against that.

She doesn't even know if she wants to try and fight it anymore. It's tiring, more than anything.

Before she turns the lights out, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and swipes through her contacts. One text. That's all.

 **Ep:** I think you ruined my life.

* * *

 **I was really tired while writing this, so if what you just read made little sense, that's why. Did I mention that Eponine/Combeferre is a really cute ship? (I dealt with it very awkwardly, but still.) I don't see much of it.**

 **Reviews make me happy and guarantee more chapters...**


	6. Chapter 6

**School is the worst, you guys. But I come bearing a new chapter.**

* * *

Holy _fuck_ , that hurts.

Montparnasse stumbles into his tiny apartment, barely bothering to close the door behind him. He's holding his hands to his side, just above his right hip. His fingers are hot and slick with blood.

He makes it into the bathroom and falls to his knees, trying to peel off his black shirt. It's sticky and warm from the blood seeping out of the cut down his side, and ripped where his attacker slashed at him.

Or maybe 'attacker' wasn't the right word. It could possibly have been self defence. Seeing as Montparnasse was trying to rob the guy at knife point. (Forget gun point. Brujon is obsessed with his pistol, but Montparnasse likes to keep his knives nice and shiny and sharp.)

Look, he was kind of drunk, wandering down the wrong street at the wrong time, his clothes alone suggesting he was carrying a tidy sum of money on him; he had it coming. Montparnasse thought alcohol was supposed to slow a person's reflexes down, but this guy managed to do some damage with a flick of a switchblade tucked into his palm.

Montparnasse carefully pulls the shirt over his head and leaves it balled up on the floor next to him. He's disappointed that it's ruined, quite honestly. The wound isn't too deep, luckily, just bleeding and ugly and red. It's a relief; he can deal with it on his own. The scar on his back reminds him not only of his last stab wound, but the nine stitches Babet gave him.

(Babet gives his credentials as, 'a doctor, of sorts,' which sounds a little dubious even to Montparnasse, but he knows his way around a needle. And a blowtorch. And hydrochloric acid.)

He hisses through clenched teeth as he swabs the wound with antiseptic liquid and cotton balls. Once he's put a dressing on it secured with a few bandages, he tries to get up, slowly, every movement stinging.

There's blood down his pants too, so he changes carefully into a pair of fake designer jeans that are so cheap he doesn't mind if they get stained, before stepping out into the living room. Montparnasse, in actual fact, barely lives in his apartment. The wooden floor planks are full of splinters, and the off green colour of the walls is nauseating, but he doesn't spend enough time there to notice much. Anyway, he has a TV and a Persian rug, both stolen in a heist and repurposed for his own means.

His cellphone chimes from the coffee table. There are maybe four people who know his number. He finds himself smiling involuntarily as he swipes a finger across the screen.

 _I think you ruined my life,_ she says, and he's not ashamed to say that he feels a surge of pride.

 **Mont:** Why would that be?

He sinks into a chair while he waits, maybe a little too intently, for her answer. He's had almost no sleep in the past week, and although normally exhaustion is a foreign concept to Montparnasse, it's starting to make itself clear now.

A little chirp, and, _Grantaire just told me he almost got mugged tonight. Would you know anything about that?_

Grantaire? One of her friends? He has a vague recollection of dark, curly hair and a sarcastic remark at every turn. Come to think of it, the drunk who did _this_ to him…

 **Mont:** No, nothing. Honestly Eponine, why would you assume I know something about that?

 **Ep:** Educated guess.

 **Mont:** I'm not the only criminal in the city, sadly.

 **Ep:** But you're the only one dumb enough to try to mug R.

She's... sort of right, there. Not that he'll give her the satisfaction by admitting that yes, he did attempt to rob her friend, and yes, he does has a nasty wound to show for it.

 **Mont:** It's dangerous to jump to conclusions, darling...

 **Ep:** You're an asshole.

Montparnasse sends her a kiss face emoji. When she doesn't reply, he pockets his phone and wanders through to the bedroom, where he collapses onto the bed. He's dead to the world before his head hits the pillow.

* * *

"Yes, I know my grades are slipping. I'm sorry, it's just been... No, I know. I haven't had much time for anything..."

Eponine paces around her bedroom, running a hand back through her hair while on the other line, a chilly-voiced administrator berates her. It's not her _fault_. These part weeks have been insane; she's been working double shifts and only just making enough to keep a roof over her siblings' heads, and that's with her pay pooled together with Azelma's. Gavroche is constantly in trouble, and now he's started wandering around the living room twirling a blunt knife in his hands - Eponine doesn't even know where that came from. And then there's the added stress of Montparnasse...

But what do they care? All they know is that her work is being neglected. Why would they have any sympathy?

"Can't I just talk to the professor?" she asks, just slightly desperately. "I'm sure if he reviews my paper... Please, I really need this scholarship. I'll improve, I just need a few extra days..."

The administrator, done with their scolding, hangs up with a click. Eponine stares at the phone in her hand for a beat, then throws it to the ground in a burst of anger. "Fuck them!" she cries to the ceiling. And then, the moment passed, she sighs and bends to retrieve her phone. The hairline crack in the bottom right corner has grown, but it's not as bad as it might have been.

She feels stupid for doing that, purposefully damaging one of the few things she has to herself. When she unlocks the screen, it flickers back to her short conversation with Montparnasse.

He infuriates her; he's arrogant, he's slimy, he's everything she tries to avoid.

She taps a number onto the screen.

"Eponine, how nice of you to call," says a smooth voice, picking up on the third ring.

She can't help but roll her eyes. "I need you here," she says, and cringes, but persists. "Bring alcohol. I'm not fussy."

"It would my absolute pleasure," says Montparnasse, before Eponine cuts the call. She's immediately overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, the sort that screams, _holy shit, what have I done?_

* * *

Montparnasse arrives outside her door with a huge, satisfied smile and a bottle of finest chocolate vodka.

Maybe he's not so bad after all.

"Why did you call me?" he asks, after they've been drinking in silence for a little bit.

Eponine, still not quite at the point of tipsy, gives him a bitter smile. It's annoying how sober she is right now. All this fancy vodka, but he hasn't even drank that much and she's too nervous to let herself go. "I don't know. You seemed like the right person at the time."

There's a pause, but surprisingly, it's not that tense. He just looks like he's waiting for her to go on. So she does.

"I'm probably going to get kicked out of college," she says casually. "It's not your fault. Well, not entirely."

"That's a shame," he replies. "You're smart."

"Not really. I invited you here."

"I'm not a threat to you," Montparnasse says, his voice so serious that Eponine looks up from her glass and stares at him.

"You're not?" Eponine replies, quietly. "Then please, Montparnasse, explain to me why you broke into my house? Why you mugged my best friend?" She glares at him, and he looks a little unsettled for the first time since she's met him. "Why I had to punch you in the face before you left me alone?"

"I didn't mug -"

"Save it. If this is you trying to be a normal person, you're not doing a great job."

He's silent. It's strange; he's usually interrupting her with some smart-mouthed comment by now. "The only reason you're here is because of that." She gestures in the general direction of his collar. "That stupid thing that says _somehow_ we are supposed to be together. Honestly, I think there's been a mistake there."

He blinks, and then shrugs. "Mistakes happen all the time," he says. "It's not always our job to fix them." He picks up his glass, leans back and looks at her through lidded brown eyes. "I'm sorry, though, if I acted inappropriately. I never said I was good at seduction."

Eponine drains her glass. There's a pleasant, warm sort of feeling in her stomach. "You're a dumbass," she replies bluntly.

"That's true."

"You did act inappropriately."

"I know."

He produces an old flip phone from somewhere on his person, glances at the screen idly for a second. "I should go."

"Yeah, you probably should," Eponine nods, scraping her chair back.

Montparnasse takes a last long drink, stands up slowly and makes his way towards the door. Eponine follows at a distance. At the door, he turns on his heel and looks down at her with a slight smirk playing around his mouth, and she just knows this was a mistake, all of it.

He brings a hand up, cups her cheek and gently runs his thumb over her cheekbone. Maybe it's the liquor, but she forgets to slap his hand away. Montparnasse tips his head towards her, his hair falling around his face – his eyelashes are weirdly long. She wonders briefly why she's chosen to focus on that, but then he leans down and kisses her, and she can't focus on anything anymore.

The only way she can describe it is that, it's as if the universe is ripping itself apart around them, in the best possible way. She can feel him smirking against her mouth – the asshole. Her hand strays down to his side, brushing along his hip, and then –

He jerks back suddenly, quickly stepping out of reach with a hiss of pain. Eponine has to take a moment to remember her surroundings, and it seems that he's just as dazed, but he bites down on his lip and skims a hand over his side.

"What's..." Eponine tries to get the words out. "What's wrong?"

Montparnasse smiles almost sadly, grabs her hand and bends to kiss her knuckles, and then walks out the door.

Eponine, not seeing much else to do, finishes the chocolate vodka over the next few hours, another mistake, she would realise the next day, but when she's finally falling asleep in the small hours of the morning, it still feels like there's a furnace burning underneath her skin.

* * *

 **I swear this story gets more cheesy with every chapter. Oh, well. As always, reviews are lovely.**


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